How many of you used to dare your siblings to eat gross looking things you found in the fridge?
Summary: It is the best idea Fred has ever had. So he is not sure how it went so wrong. General, Fic-For-Kids, Hurt/Comfort(ish), Wee!Weasleys starring Fred, George & Charlie Weasley. Rated PG, but it may give your children ideas for pranks, and with 2,070 words.
Title: Burrowing - The Best Idea Ever
Author: The Artful Dodger / dodger_sister
Fandom: Harry Potter
Category: General, Fic-For-Kids, Hurt/Comfort(ish), Wee!Weasleys
Characters/Pairing: Fred, George & Charlie Weasley
Warnings: Your kids might get ideas for pranks.
Summary: It is the best idea Fred has ever had. So he is not sure how it went so wrong.
Word Count: 2,070 words.
Date Written: June, 2012
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and all the Weasley characters belongs to JK Rowling and some other people. I wrote this story and it makes me no money or gold.
Feedback: Bring it. dodger_sister / TheArtofDodger@comcast.net
Author's Notes: I have been wanting to write more in the Burrowing ’verse for years now. When I sat down to write this story for a friend, I thought it would be some cute Fred & George hijinks- which it is. But after writing a slew of fic-for-kids for my nephew, this story also seems to have come out with a tone aimed at children. That was not my intention when I started writing it, but I rather like how it came out. Wee!Fred and Wee!George are the cutest things ever. I was going to make it ‘farting’ in the story, so it would be less Charlie and Grandpa Joe, but I just couldn’t bring myself to write a fic about farting. And oh yeah, the ‘make your sibling drink whatever you can find in the kitchen’ game - totally use to play that when I was a kid.
Dedication: For mandatorily. I know things have been beyond the suck lately, my dear, and I do hope they get better soon. But in the meantime, maybe some Wee!Weasleys will cheer you up. All the hugs, darling.
Best. Idea. Ever.
Fred was sure of it. He’d done a lot of supremely amazing things in his eight years of life but this was, by far, the best.
It had started with a dare, as most things do with young boys. George had pulled the remains of some old half-eaten dinner out of the back of the icebox and dared Fred to eat it.
Fred had slapped at his brother and shoved him away.
Then, knowing his brother’s weak spot, George had looked him right in the eyes and said, “Bill would do it.”
“Fine,” Fred had grumbled and picked up the green whatever-it-was and held it up to his face. “I figure you were probably alive once,” Fred told his sort-of-food. “But try not to come back to life while I’m eating you.”
Then he had shoved a bite of food the size of his own fist into his mouth and tried to chew, eyes scrunched up, ears popping as he worked his little jaw.
He choked when it finally went down and had to cough just enough to make it finish its journey down his gullet. Then he was gasping and sputtering and George was looking through the refrigerator for juice for his brother and anything else gross he might be able to get Fred to eat.
It’d gone on like that for a little awhile. Fred had dared George to drink Bill’s special healthy drink, which was mostly churned up vegetables and just for good measure, Fred had added a ridiculous amount of pepper to it.
George drank it and then stuck his head under the faucet and gulped down all the water he could.
After that, it was a rush to top each other. Anyone who has ever told you that things usually look grosser than they taste, they’d clearly never seen the inside of Mrs. Weasley’s icebox.
And now here they were, staring into the glass of Fred’s greatest creation ever.
“What is in it?” George asked suspiciously, because it actually just looked like orange juice with crushed up mellows in it.
“Nothing special,” Fred said casually. “We’re kinda running out of good things to use.”
George eyed him suspiciously.
“What?” Fred asked and pushed for even more casual than he had been, leaning back against the kitchen table, legs crossed at the ankles.
“Bugger all,” George said, eyes narrowing in on his brother. “I know that look.”
“I would think so,” Fred replied with a cheeky grin. “It’s fine anyways, if you’re too duff to do it.”
“I’m not duff!” George cried. “Just shut all for a moment and let me think.”
It was definitely orange juice and the crushed up mellows had to be Mister Cloud’s Fluff-Mellows, which their Mom only let them have in their cocoa on special occasions. One of the boys was probably going to get in trouble once their Mom noticed they were missing but that wouldn’t be until winter’d come along anyways.
“Alright,” George said and took a deep breath, let it out slow. “I’ll do it.”
Fred looked way too pleased with himself.
George took one small tentative sip.
It tasted good. Really, really good.
It was sweet and sugary and had a bit of fizz to it.
George drank down the whole glass as fast as he could.
“That was delicious,” he said and handed the cup back to his brother. “I’m gonna find something way worse for you, just so you know.”
But then something odd happened.
When George turned back to the kitchen cupboard, the one with all the spices and gross cooking ingredients that George always felt ruined what could have been a perfectly good meal, the door-handle seemed lower than it had before. Almost like George himself had suddenly grown taller.
“What’s all that?” George asked just as Fred exclaimed, “Bloody hell!” behind him.
“What’ve you done?” George told his brother and turned back around to see what was the problem.
Only when he turned around, he also kind of got taller and tipped forward a little and realized quite suddenly, that his feet were not touching the ground.
At all actually.
It wasn’t so much that George had gotten taller as it was that he was floating. In fact, he was getting quite high up now.
“Help!” he hollered. “Fred, bugger, help, Merlin, Fred!” and he thrashed around so violently that he nearly flipped over into a somersault right there in the air.
“You’re floating!” Fred cried in a rather unhelpful way.
“Do something!” George hollered back.
Fred clamored up on top of the kitchen table, knocking aside a bowl of puff-melons their Mom had set out to cook with later. He reached up and grabbed onto George’s legs, pulled George’s feet tight against his own chest and held him there.
“Now what?” Fred asked his brother’s feet.
“I don’t know!” George hollered. “Get help!”
“I can’t let go of your legs. You’ll float away.”
And so it was, 15 minutes later, that their big brother Charlie found them. Fred was still standing on the kitchen table holding tight to George’s feet. George was still trying to float away and the only thing keeping him from bumping his head on the ceiling was his brother’s grip on his ankles.
Also, George was crying.
“What’ve you done then?” Charlie asked them and he was grinning, though neither of the twins could see anything funny about this situation at all. “Out with it.”
Charlie was thirteen years old and as far as Fred and George figured, he was really the smartest brother they had. At least he was the best at getting in and out of trouble without getting caught.
“We were just daring each other to eat and drink gross stuff, is all,” Fred told him, rather meekly.
“Please, Charlie, get me down,” George said through a series of crying hiccups. “I don’t want to float away.”
“Don’t be daft,” Charlie told him. “You won’t float away. You’ll just have to live in the attic with the ghoul and we’ll have to throw food up to the ceiling for you to catch whenever you get hungry.”
“Stop teasing at him!” Fred said and left go of one of George’s leg to swat at his older brother.
Of course, this lessened his grip on George considerably and he began to slip right out of Fred’s grasp.
“Hold on there, champ,” Charlie said and jumped up on a chair to grab a hold of George, wrapping his arms around his little brother’s waist.
“I didn’t mean for him to float away,” Fred said and he looked close to crying himself.
“Come on then, buck up you two. Tell me what you gave him, Fred.”
Fred released his one-handed hold on George and sat down hard on top of the table. “It was an accident.”
“Just tell me,” Charlie said softly and knocked his knee against the sole of one of Fred’s shoes.
“Orange juice, fluff-mellows and FizzyWigg’s Fizzy Bubbles.”
“What? Are you daft?” Charlie asked “You’re lucky he didn’t balloon out everywhere.”
“I don’t want to balloon out!” George cried.
“Hush now, you won’t,” Charlie told him and then looked at Fred. “Go and get some Burbees from the bathroom cupboard.”
“The candy things that Mom gives Percy when the food upsets his stomach?”
“Yes. There should be a box of them in the cupboard.”
“How will that help?”
“Fred,” Charlie said in his best big-brother-voice.
“Fine,” Fred grumbled and ran off up the stairs.
Charlie sat down on the table-top and pulled George as tight as he could. “Hang in there, little brother,” he said and then chuckled. “You boys are bloody lucky I showed up instead of Mum, you know that?”
George wiped the tears off his face and nodded his head. “It was just a stupid game.”
“I know. I’ve played that game before.”
“Really?” George asked and tried to tilt his head down so he could look at Charlie.
“Once Bill gave me rashweed all crushed up in some hot cocoa. I didn’t know it was rashweed though until I started itching all over inside. I had to drink a gallon of water mixed with anti-itching powder just to keep from reaching down my throat and ripping out my own insides.”
“Did Bill get in trouble?”
“We both got in trouble,” Charlie told him. “I’ve never seen Mum and Dad so mad in my life.”
“You were okay though?”
“Don’t I look okay?” Charlie asked. “Come on, we both know I am still the most handsome bloke in this house.”
Fred came back then, quickly unwrapping one of the small yellow chewing tablets. He climbed up on the table and reached up high so George could take it from him.
“Just eat it?” George asked Charlie.
“Chew it and you should be all good.”
They waited then, watched anxiously while George chewed the Burbees and then they waited some more.
A minute went by and nothing happened.
“It’s not working!” George cried.
And then, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, George burped.
And then he burped again.
And then one more time.
Charlie let go of George and the twins both screamed.
“Don’t let me float away!” George cried and kicked his legs out.
But then he noticed he wasn’t all the way to the ceiling like he thought he would be.
“Burp again,” Charlie told him.
“I can’t,” George said, so Charlie stood up on the table and gave his brother another Burbees to eat.
A few seconds later and George was burping up a storm.
And he stopped floating towards the ceiling.
And he started floating closer to the ground.
And then he was past the table and almost on the floor.
And George’s little shoes suddenly touched the hardwood beneath him and then his feet were flat on the ground.
He let out one more long burp, just for good measure, and then threw his arms around Charlie.
“Alright there?” Charlie asked and patted his little brother’s back.
“Alright,” George said with a long sigh.
Fred threw himself at George and tried to hug his brother as well, but George pushed him away.
“You're stupid,” George told him.
“It was an accident!” Fred cried and took a step back, away from his brothers who both had their arms slung around each other.
“Well…your face is stupid,” George said, though with less conviction this time.
“Yeah, well then your face is stupid too!” Fred replied.
Charlie cleared his throat.
“I mean,” Fred said, “just that, I mean, I’m sorry.”
“Alright,” George told him and threw his arms around his brother.
“Okay,” Charlie said and stood up from where he was still sitting on the table-top. “First rule of pranks - use your head,” and to emphasize he tapped a finger on the top of each of the twins’ heads. “It’s all fun and games until someone get hurts. The number one way to get caught by an adult is for someone to get hurt.”
“What else?” Fred asked him solemnly. There was no one better to teach them these things than Charlie, after all.
“Rule number two is always watch each other’s backs. If you are going to pull a proper prank, make sure you can count on your accomplice. And,” he added in a near-whisper, “never trust Ron to be your lookout. A tattle, that one is.”
“Any other rules?” Fred asked hurriedly, only a little worried that George might get the idea to confess how it had really been the two of them who told on Charlie for trying to fly off the roof without a broom.
“The most important rule of all - never leave behind any trace evidence. As in,” Charlie said and gestured around the room to the empty containers and dirty glasses, wrappers and foil and cupboard doors standing open, “Clean up this mess.”
Charlie left the room then with a little wave and a grin. Fred and George both looked at the mess they had made.
There was no telling when their Mum would be back, so they had better get to cleaning quick like.
“Hey Fred,” George said then, with a little lilt to his voice. “I dare you to eat all the rest of the Burbees at once.”
And then, just for good measure, he added, “Charlie would do it.”